


And I'm here with you, head over feet

by Sauternes



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Short, a touch of angst, but who's to say, only Jake/Amy in the first one but more of the squad to appear later!, probably 3 in total, series of one -shots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-08 14:42:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12866682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sauternes/pseuds/Sauternes
Summary: A series of short, fluffy episodes in the life of the Peraltiago household, set from early S5 onwards.





	1. Beep beep

**Author's Note:**

> Title loosely inspired by the Alannis Morisette song.

There was a reason Amy Santiago set 5 alarms every morning. Yes, of course, she could be occasionally construed as Type A, and most of the time she woke up before her alarm anyway. But when she was tired, the kind of bone tired you end up being somewhat regularly when you’re a young, conscientious, and ambitious NYPD detective, it took all 5 alarms to wake her from her stupor. So it was Jake, a lighter sleeper since his time in prison, who woke up when the chirping noise started at 2am on Amy’s first full night off in two weeks. Jake’s first response was to bury his head back under the covers, into the warmth and security created by his and Amy’s bodies, but after 3 more beeps he realized that attempt would be futile.

He stumbled groggily out of bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he craned his head to try to place the noise. On the fourth beep it came to him.

“Kitchen smoke detector!” he said with as much dramatic effect as he could muster while being both half asleep and considerate of his partner sleeping inches away. 

Amy’s (no, he remembered, _his and Amy’s_ ) ceilings were too high to reach easily, so he clambered onto a kitchen chair to pull the alarm down. He was still standing on the chair, about to take the first battery out of the alarm, when there was another beep. Startled, he fell sideways, and landed butt-first onto the dining table with a thud that reverberated through the china cabinet.

“Owwy,” he whispered to himself as he sat up, thankful again that Amy owned only incredibly heavy wooden furniture capable of withstanding the weight of a highly muscular detective.

Unfortunately, the thud of his side hitting the table sent a shudder through the china cabinet, rattling glassware and utensils at a volume that felt cacophonous in the 2am stillness of their quiet neighborhood. Then the smoke alarm beeped again.

“Shit,” Jake whispered to himself. “You’re taunting me, smoke detector!”

He could hear Amy beginning to stir in the other room, so quickly clambered onto the chair again, figuring he had a couple of more beeps before stirring would turn into actual awakening from her deep slumber. He quickly twisted the cover of the alarm, and managed to get both batteries out just as the next beep was starting.

“Victory!” he cheered quietly to himself, as he tip-toed towards the sink to place the used batteries in the “electronic recyclables” container that was stored in the lower cabinets. He didn’t, however, have any idea where the new batteries were in their apartment. There must be batteries somewhere though. Probably well-labeled, too, which would be good since he had no idea what type of batteries the smoke alarm would need.   

They definitely weren’t in the cereal cabinet, because he was well-acquainted with how that looked both full and empty. And they couldn’t be near the garbage bags, because he was a good boyfriend/ person to live with and regularly took out the trash, both in the past few weeks and before prison. And Amy hadn’t moved anything during the two months he’d been away, or at least nothing that he’d noticed yet (with the exception of her razor, her toothbrush, and a new, fuller bottle of the same shampoo she always used, the apartment looked exactly the same on the Tuesday he returned as it had on the Thursday he left for court for the last time).

So, he reasoned, it was definitely best to leave the batteries out of the smoke detector for the night (or few hours left in the early morning) and crawl back into his warm, soft bed next to his amazing girlfriend. He wouldn’t want to disturb her by going through all of the cabinets at this hour anyway.

This logical, responsible decision made, Jake turned off the kitchen light and turned back towards the bedroom. He opened the door as slowly as he could, trying to avoid making the squeaky hinge squeak. He failed, and then froze, stock-still, in the half-opened door frame, as if his lack of movement would prevent Amy from having heard the door noise. It was silly, but it maybe worked, because, as he stood there breathing as quietly as he could, peering into the darkness of their bedroom, he could begin to see the gentle rise and fall of her chest under the blanket.

After a few seconds standing frozen in the doorway without a sign of further movement from Amy, Jake figured he’d be able to sneak back into bed unnoticed. He managed to close the door uneventfully, and quietly padded to his side of the bed, where the covers were still peeled back from his exit minutes earlier. He slipped back into bed, right into the space he had left, which was still a little warm and a little sagged down in the softness of the mattress (one of the best purchases he’d ever made, he thought as his body relaxes, vertebra by vertebra, into the pillow top). He curled himself in towards Amy, who was sleeping as she often is, angled in his direction for extra warmth even though fall was taking its sweet time coming to Brooklyn this year. She rolled closer to him subconsciously, bringing their feet to the point of almost touching.

“You’re so cold,” she muttered, words slurred, eyes still closed.

“Don’t you mean cool?” he replied gently, with a kiss on her temple.

Amy giggled slightly in response, her eyes opening as she drew the blankets tighter around herself. “Did you have a bad dream?” she continued softly.

“Nope, just a short battle with the smoke detector. I won.”

“Oops, I must have forgotten to change the batteries at the summer solstice like I usually do.” She paused for a second, then turned to look at Jake, “This summer sucked.”

Jake laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Amy asked.

“I can’t believe that you change the smoke detector batteries every summer solstice.”

“Winter solstice, too,” she replied indignantly.

“Don’t normal people just change the smoke detector batteries when they run out? Or, like, maybe if you’re Holt on daylight savings day or something?”

“I’m my own woman, Peralta. And the batteries are right above the cereal, ya dork,” she kissed him on the cheek.

“So should I go fix it for real now?”

“No, stay in bed. Your feet are just starting to defrost. And I miss having you here.”

“I was only gone for a minute,” he replied as he rolled onto his side to kiss her nose, leaving them face-to-face in the dark, Amy with her eyes only half open.  

“That’s not what I meant,” she whispered back. “I missed you so much while you were in prison that sometimes I forget you’re back and I just revert to missing you, even though you’re here.”

And then before he could even put together a rational thought to respond, he was on the verge of tears. Prison sucked, so hard, and he hated that the suckyness continued to pervade their lives not just in the form of his occasional nightmares and newfound conscientiousness in the field, but also in this invasion into Amy’s psyche. Mere inches from him, her deep, even breathing continued, and her eyelids started to flutter further closed.

He took a deep breath and reached to hold Amy’s hand under the covers, “I love you so,so  much. I don’t ever want to be gone long enough that you miss me again.”

“I love you, too, Jake,” she mumbled. “Now sleep. Gotta be ready for work tomorrow.”

Jake closed his eyes and kissed her on the forehead one more time, his chest expanding with warmth as the corners of her mouth turned up into a smile in response to the heat of his lips on her skin. He lay awake for more than a few minutes as a sense of contentment and anticipation washed over him, and when the dreams overtook him, they were about the ring he’d hidden in a rolled up pair of socks, and the smile that he hoped would be on Amy’s face when she finally saw it.


	2. Sundays in the Park

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy gets called in to work on a Sunday not long after her maternity leave ends. All goes well, until it doesn't. 
> 
> Actually pretty light on plot and just an excuse for me to string a bunch of fluffy headcanons together.

Three weeks after she and Jake have used up all their parental leave, and two weeks after her mom has decided that she can return to Florida for the second time since Rachel was born (‘Papi needs me more than you do after all this time alone, mija’), Amy gets called into work on a Sunday. Her new Sergeant is clearly embarrassed and feeling a little bit guilty for calling her in.

“Hi Lieutenant, I’m so sorry to bother you on the weekend. I loved my weekends so much when Jessy was still a baby. But we’re stuck in a real bind here and could use your help.”

“No problem,” Amy had replied, her heart already aching a little at the thought of leaving baby Rae for any more hours than necessary, but her thoughts happily skipping ahead to the organizational challenge that was waiting for her at the precinct. Jake, of course, practically shoved her out the door once she mentioned that she was needed at work. He had been Rae’s primary caregiver after Amy’s six weeks of maternity leave were used up (they had both taken the first 2 weeks, then 4 of just Amy while Jake worked/ showed everyone he encountered endless pictures of his new daughter, then 4 more of just Jake while Amy went back to work), so Amy felt a smidge of guilt leaving him alone on childcare duty yet again. Weekends with Rachel so far had been for sharing the late-night feedings and sneaking extra minutes of sleep on the couch while the other one sterilized breast pump pieces or attempted to catch up on the endless laundry, not for last-minute trips to the precinct as it had been in their pre-parenting days.

“Babe, don’t worry,” Jake reassured her. “We knew this would happen sooner or later. My mom is on back-up babysitting call every Sunday, and you definitely did more of the baby work yesterday so we are just going to kick back, relax, and luxuriate in the absence of your mother while hypocritically eating the delicious leftovers she froze for us. Isn’t that right, my little nugget?” He punctuates the end of this statement with a kiss for Rachel, who smiles back with her wide eyes, then promptly spits up on his shoulder.

“I love you so much,” Amy shouts back as she backs out the door, pulling her boots on with one hand and waving goodbye to Rae with the other.

Once at the precinct she quickly realizes most of the confusion is related to a paperwork mix-up. No one had completed a Friday afternoon back-up of the latest version of the event recording form, so there were duplicates floating around all over the place, and now the division was at serious risk of either losing prisoners in transit or detaining people for an extended period, something Amy and Holt had repeatedly made clear was unacceptable in the Nine-nine.

Fortunately, no one is better at fixing filing messes than Amy Santiago, and she has the documents reordered and all the weekend’s bail- eligible perps booked and out the door with their court dates within two and a half hours. Amy hangs around the precinct for a little bit after the last event recording form is submitted to the processing system so that she can ensure there are no bounce-backs or other errors, then double checks that all the other saved and printed reference forms are up to date.

She sits back, admiring the calm that has descended over the precinct. She’s spent so many hours in this bullpen over the years, and has been so glad to be back (as the NYPD’s 2nd-youngest Lieutenant, natch), but has also spent a lot of her quiet time at work lately with a nagging sadness in the back of her mind about the fact that her baby is at daycare rather than home with her or with Jake. It’s nice to be able to sit in a moment of peace at the precinct and have the back of her mind churning about Compstat figures and Muji’s latest line of extra-fine point pens rather than what is happening at the nursery, and if Rachel is getting enough attention there (everything always seems fine at pick-up and drop-off, but Amy Santiago doesn’t trust that easily, especially, as it turns out, when it comes to her child).

She texts Jake to check-in, explaining that things have settled down at the precinct and that she should be home before dinner. Maybe they should try to cook something tonight? Their dinner rotation has pretty much been 100% frozen Camila Santiago dinners or takeout since the week before the baby was born. She gets a response back from Jake almost immediately. His texts have been more riddled with typos and abbreviations than usual since Rachel was born. He’s either holding her in one hand while he texts Amy, or he’s so tired that his attempts to make Amy happy by using commas correctly go out the window. So it’s not hugely surprising that the response she gets to her perfectly punctuated message (ok, there’s one period that’s somehow snuck a single space away from the end of the sentence) is almost unreadable.

_Tubs bus. Hsbkg fin ging 3 walk and then gristle? Csn sot got I too_

She’s pretty sure that he meant something along the lines of “Thanks babe. Having fun! Going for a walk and then a diaper change. Got to go,” so she texts him back a heart emoji and the blowing kisses emoji. Since it’s near the end of the shift, she decides to let the Sergeant head home early, and she takes over the wrap-up procedures for the afternoon, creating the sign-out email and checking in about open cases with the couple of detectives who are there. It’s not even 4pm when she finishes chatting with one of her favorite new detectives (not that she has favorites, she just sees the potential for a productive mentorship) about using mapping technology to create an entomological evidence database, so she decides to walk home. Her route will take her past the park and a grocery store, so she texts Jake as she exits the precinct, seeing if he’s still out and wants to meet along the way. They can take the bus to work on Monday if they’re running late, and then take her car home that evening.

She doesn’t get a response, and doesn’t think much of it. Maybe his hands are full, or maybe he’s catching some sleep alongside Rae if she’s napping. It’s a clear, all-blue skies May day, and she’s just warm enough with her coat on and the sun shining on her face. Late spring is the best time of the year, she thinks to herself.

When she approaches the park and doesn’t see Jake or even a stroller in sight, she’s not surprised. While Jake has historically been known for his tendency to the sedentary, he loves taking Rachel to the park, even though she’s not exactly mobile yet. He first decided these adventures would be worthwhile when she was about a month old and the pediatrician told them her visual field had expanded enough that she should be starting to enjoy watching moving objects. Jake interpreted this as “babies love looking at swings,” and was only a little bit visibly disappointed when on their first park visit as a family Rachel seemed completely unaware of the significance of the trip or the appeal of the swing set. Jake was undeterred, however, and though their trips are usually short he takes Rachel to the park almost every day.

She doesn’t see Jake (with either a stroller or the baby-wearer from Terry that he mocks but secretly loves) inside the coffee shop next door to the park, either. Often park time turns into a coffee run, which Amy tries not to begrudge, given her breastfeeding limit of one to two strong cups of coffee per day. She was almost certain that some days the park adventures were just a way to get coffee without rubbing the extra caffeine unfairly in her face, because the one day that Jake had come home with his extra-tall latte still steaming in his hands he looked like a kid whose hand had been caught in the cookie jar, even though they had gone into this pregnancy with a clear understanding that coffee was sacrosanct and to be savored as much as possible by either of them. Amy understood that this meant Jake would be consuming more coffee than she would for a while. (Alcohol was a different story- as soon as they found out she was pregnant, Jake went on a strict sympathy period of abstention. Which was exempted for group outings, during which it became his task to surreptitiously consume both his beer and the one Amy ordered but didn’t drink. Once they were far enough along to share the news, he got really into creating elaborate mocktails with the bartender at Shaw’s, which was honestly more annoying than just watching him have a beer. But she also sort of loved it.)

Amy’s train of thought meanders back on track as she approaches the local market. The mom-and-pop store is somehow still in business in their rapidly gentrifying neighborhood, and is thankfully only two blocks from their apartment. It’s still not exactly a source of bargains or even objectively a great grocery store, but it’s nice to have something besides the corner bodega or the new Whole Foods when they realize they’re out of baby wipes at 2 am.   

She doesn’t see Jake though the window of the store, so decides to enter and do a quick lap. She winds her way from the discounted Easter decorations at the front around to the tiny produce aisle and much larger frozen food and cereal section before finishing the loop of the store in paper goods She contemplates texting Jake to double check if they need more toilet paper before just grabbing a 4 pack of their preferred brand and making a mental note to add toilet paper to their Amazon auto-refill list. Jake has gotten very good at grocery shopping, but for some reason toilet paper and paper towels seem to be impossible for him to remember.

“How’s the baby doing, miss?” Reina the checker asks her as she approaches the miraculously empty check-out line.

“She’s doing well, thank you. Were she and Jake not here earlier?” Amy replies, somewhat surprised.

“No miss,” the quiet teenager responds. “But my shift only started two hours ago.”  

“Ok, then,” Amy responds, thinking that perhaps the diaper situation became urgent at the park and necessitated a speedy trip home, with no time for lolly-gagging or meal planning en route. “Say hi to your mom for me,” she finishes, and fishes her phone out of her pocket as she heads for the door.

She texts Jake the smiling poop emoji and the volcano emoji (Gina would be so proud) with a question mark, then follows up with _Just around the corner. See my two loves soon!_.

She holds the phone out for a second, seeing if the hovering dots will appear. When none do, she puts her phone back in her pocket and resumes her walk home on the sunny side of the sidewalk.

The entryway of the building is quiet as she walks through the front door, and the sunlight from the hall window dapples the stairs that lead up to their second-floor apartment. She ascends the stairs quickly, not stopping to check the mail in the foyer (even though there’s no post on Sunday, Amy often can’t help but double check the box to make sure that she hasn’t missed anything over the previous six days of the week). She had enjoyed the walk home, but something about being back in the building makes her feel an almost visceral need to be near Rachel, to gather her in her arms. And more practically, it’s a bit past time to nurse and suddenly the dull ache in her breasts has become more sharp and persistent.

She peaks her head in the door before taking her shoes off, expecting to see Jake and Rachel drowsy on the couch, or for Jake to come bounding to the door with a giggling baby on his hip, or for Jake to tip-toe towards her for a quiet kiss if by some miracle he’s managed to lull the baby to sleep without falling asleep himself. But instead she is greeted with silence.

Something about the quiet makes the back of her neck tingle, and she walks into the living room without taking her shoes off or closing the door behind her. The living room appears to be in the exact same state of disarray that it was in before she left a few hours ago, down to the haphazard placement of the stroller in the far corner. She enters the kitchen and notices Jake’s phone sitting on the counter and the diaper bag open on the dining table. She strides over to the phone, her heart rate starting to increase. She tries to brighten the screen to see when Jake last checked his texts, but the phone is dead. If this weren’t her own house, her own husband and daughter mysteriously not where she expected them to be, she’d be able to think this through. There are a million good reasons to not be home and have a dead phone left on the counter, not plugged in, she tells herself. Maybe Jake decided to take out the garbage, she thinks. She can’t think of anything more than that, and her breathing starts to pick up the pace when she notices that the kitchen garbage is just has half-full as it was this morning. Any other clues are beyond her as she looks around, mind racing through awful scenario after awful scenario, visions of blood and a tiny coffin so vivid as if they were really floating in front of her.

She jumps out of her skin when she hears the apartment door open behind her. Out of instinct, her right hand swings to her right hip, reaching for her service pistol, though it is checked in her locker at the precinct as protocol dictates since she is off duty. She swirls around, heart pounding in her ears, to see Jake, Rachel strapped to his chest, a bouquet of flowers in his hands.

“Oh my god, you scared me so much,” she sighs, tears starting to stream down her face.

Jake’s bright smile fades as he strides from the living room to the kitchen to embrace her in a sideways hug, placing Rachel between their bodies in her carrier, casting the flowers carelessly onto the table. Amy can still feel her heart thudding against her chest wall, but it’s beginning to slow.  

“Amy, Ames, babe, what’s wrong?” he asks as he strokes her hair.

She sniffles and takes a big gulp of air, then reaches to scoop Rachel out of the carrier on Jake’s chest and into her arms.

“It’s so stupid,” she sighs, “I just saw your phone lying on the counter and couldn’t think of why you’d be out without any supplies, and our house is such a mess anyway who could tell if someone had broken in, and all I could think of was the worst-case scenario.”  

She shrugs to wipe her tears on the shoulders of her shirt and puffs up her cheeks to make a funny face at Rachel, who has been placid throughout Amy’s minor breakdown.

“I’m so sorry, hun,” Jake says while rubbing circles on her back. “My phone died on the way back from the park and then the peanut over here had a little bit of a diaper issue that required some cleanup,” he leans in to kiss Rachel on the cheek, and she smiles back up at him, “and then Mrs. VanBuren from downstairs knocked on the door and said she had some early flowers coming up in her window boxes, so we popped down there to pick some for you. And maybe have some cookies. And it turns out she has a patio! Obviously I agreed to a tour. She must have been showing us all her gardening stuff when you came in. Otherwise I would have heard you.”

He continues to rub her back with his right hand and reaches to gather the flowers from the table with his left. He presents them to her with an exaggerated flourish, and she laughs.

“I’m sorry I freaked out,” Amy replies. “The flowers are beautiful.”

“Ames,” Jake frowns at her, “You know you don’t every need to apologize for ‘freaking out,’” he embellishes with air quotes, “Being parents is the scariest thing we’ve ever done together. Also the best. I’ll try to be better about keeping my phone charged.”

“Thank you,” Amy replies. Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation and the fight-or-flight adrenaline surge wearing off, but Jake’s goofy smile and puppy-dog eyes make her chest feel as warm as they did when they shared their first kiss in the evidence lockup six years ago. “Now I need to nurse or my breasts are going to explode. And then we’ll talk about dinner.”      

She carries Rae into the living room and settles in to feed her, while Jake gets a vase for the flowers and grabs some takeout menus. The room is warm, the sun is bright, and her family is together. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, then stage whispers to Jake to come join them. Figuring out dinner can wait; right now they need to stare at the beautiful, perfect baby that they made, and wonder how they got so lucky.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I stumbled upon Rachel nn Rae as the name for Jake + Amy's first child while perusing some fandom tumblrs a little while ago, and I really liked it. Hopefully whoever originally came up with the idea is ok with my borrowing of it for use here!


	3. Sparklers in the Hall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the Ebony Falcon (season 1). Jake and Amy are expecting. Jake freaks out.

It’s probably about three weeks after he and Amy find out that she’s pregnant (seated shoulder-to-shoulder on the edge of the tub, holding hands as they wait for a tiny plastic stick to change color), that Jake first freaks out in the field. They haven’t told anyone yet, and so far he’s mainly been elated: he and Amy get home from work and it’s just like usual, except for when Amy gets nauseous and Jake makes her ginger tea and rubs her feet on the couch, or when she’s not nauseous and every mundane task holds extra excitement because right this very second a tiny future human being is growing inside his amazing, spectacular, beautiful wife. Having this kernel of secret joy to share has made both Jake and Amy feel like they are floating on a cloud. But in some ways it also hasn’t felt real yet- Amy doesn’t look pregnant, and no one knows except the two of them (not even their parents, at Amy’s insistence, citing statistics about first-trimester miscarriage rates and trisomy screening). So Jake hasn’t had much of an opportunity to dwell on all that could go wrong with parenting and pregnancy in a two-cop household.

But this Tuesday he and Amy get sent out together to knock doors for a string of B+E’s that are becoming increasingly violent. The whole precinct is out canvassing, and Jake thinks nothing of it until the woman who opens the door of apartment 15E glances sideways. Something about the ways her eyes dart to the back corner of the apartment as soon as she sees the badges on his and Amy’s chests raises the hair on the back of his neck, and he’s pushing Amy out of the way with one arm and drawing his gun with the other before he has a chance to say “NYPD, show me your hands.”

Amy quickly regains her balance and draws her weapon as well, but not before there’s a crashing noise and pieces of shattered glass flying out of the apartment and into the hallway. The woman who opened the door is lying on the ground, cradling her head in her hands, and there’s a man in the back of the apartment running full-speed at the living room window, but all Jake can think of is Amy, and the blood he sees dripping down her face. Her hands are still wrapped around her gun, and she’s on her feet and advancing into the apartment, ordering everyone to stay down.

Meanwhile, he’s stuck in the hallway. Completely frozen in place, heart beating hard and fast against his sternum. His breath seems to be expanding in his chest, swelling his lungs so that there’s no room for anything else. He’s just a pounding heart with a drawn gun. All he hears is the waves of blood rushing past his ear drums; a terrible, overwhelming version of the seashells he listened to as a child with Nana.

And then Amy peeks her head out the door. On some level he can hear her on the radio, calling for backup, explaining that there was a bomb but that the scene currently appears clear. She’s got a man handcuffed to a heating pipe and is toying with whether to handcuff the now-bawling woman or wait to have her escorted out by another officer.  

She’s calling his name, too, he thinks. Uniformed officers appear around him, then a tactical team. The din of a working crime scene and building evacuation begins to rise, drowning out the whooshing in his ears, and then, without a conscious direction (his thoughts have been on the same loop of _Amy, Amy, Amy_ over and over since they opened this damn door), his body is moving at full speed towards his wife, his hands are running over the blood matted in her hair, feeling the solidness and realness of her body, almost fully intact. He’s vaguely aware of an EMT approaching, asking them both if they can move outside to be evaluated for head injuries, but he can’t respond because the air that was expanding his lungs has all rushed out now in a whining exhale of tears. His head is buried in her shoulder; his temples are turning red with the blood from Amy’s scalp.

“It’s ok,” she says, “It’s ok, it’s ok,” she repeats as she kisses his cheek, his hairline, his nose, her voice beginning to crack.

“If you can please move along,” the EMT cuts in. “They’re clearing the building.”

Jake and Amy untangle themselves, but clasp hands before they follow the somewhat vexed paramedic down the 4 flights of stairs (no elevator use allowed except for emergency personnel coming up and evacuation of people who can’t walk safely). They’re greeted by Charles, who swoons when he sees the red over Amy’s hair and face and arms, and by Captain Holt with his eyebrows knit a few centimeters closer together than usual.

“I’m glad to see you looking relatively well,” Holt greets them. “Please complete your medical evaluations and then report back to me to discuss today’s events.”

They walk to the open back of the same ambulance, and a young and serious-looking woman rolls up Amy’s sleeves, checks over her neck, and then begins to wash blood off her face.

A bored looking middle aged man approaches Jake and begins to ask some questions about what day it is and if he can remember three words. The EMT’s disinterested expression begins to shift to one of concern as Jake replies that he’s pretty sure it’s a Tuesday in February or early March (it’s Thursday, March 11th).

“He’s always like this,” Amy interjects as the female paramedic places tiny bandages on her hairline. “I don’t think it’s a head injury.”  

“Yeah, you shouldn’t be worrying about me,” Jake replies, “My wife is,” he looks around to make sure no one from the squad is within earshot “pregnant. Isn’t trauma bad for babies?”

“I was just about to clear her,” the female paramedic acknowledges, “but we can’t do that for pregnant people. I’m going to need to transport you in that case.”

Amy rolls her eyes. “Jaaake,” she whines. “You know full well that I am responsible and would have gone to the doctor right after this! Now we’re going to miss debriefing the case and sit in the ER for hours. I feel fine.”

“Amy, you’re being ridiculous, this is way more important than the case. What if the baby’s not ok? Or you’re not ok?” He replies, his volume increasing.

The paramedics nod to each other and mutter something about needing to check in with a supervisor as they walk away from what looks from the outside to be an escalating argument.  

“Jake, it’s basically a scrape, and we know literally nothing about what just happened. We need to go talk to the Captain.”   

Jake can feel his heart rate begin to increase again, and he can recognize the panic in his voice as he nearly squeaks out, “Amy, we could have died today! Died! We can’t leave a baby with no parents. They can’t do anything on their own! I started to read the books! Being a cop is so unsafe- how did we decide this was an ok idea?”

His breathing is speeding up now, too, like it’s trying to catch up with his heartbeat, and the world is beginning to spin around him. Even though Amy is a mere foot or two away from him he’s having trouble focusing on her.

“Detective Peralta, Sergeant Santiago, is everything alright? This medical evaluation is taking longer than anticipated and I would prefer not to start interrogating suspects without having heard your perspective on the afternoon,” Captain Holt’s commanding voice cuts into the swirls of anxiety racing through Jake’s brain, but doesn’t reach anywhere that controls his ability to move his limbs again.

Amy replies for both of them, “Captain, can we have a minute? I think Jake is having a panic attack. They happen sometimes since he got back from prison.”

“Oh, of course, Sergeant. My apologies. I hadn’t thought of that possibility. But that was callous of me.”

“No, Captain, you’re right that it’s been much better this past year. It’s just that, umm, I’m pregnant and I think that added stress made today a little harder? Just give us a minute and I think we’ll be ready to join the rest of the squad.”

“Of course,” the Captain nods subtly.

“Captain,” Amy calls after him, “Can you not mention this to the rest of the squad quite yet? I’m only a few weeks along so we haven’t even told our parents.”

The Captain nods again and walks back towards the police cordon.

Amy reaches for Jake’s hand, and places it on her heart. He can feel her chest rise and fall gently with each breath she takes, and his breaths start to slow down to match hers. His heart is still pounding, but the tornado of fragmented fears begins, slowly, to subside.     

As if she can read his mind (after all these years maybe she can, Jake thinks), Amy begins to talk, their hands still intertwined on her chest.

“I love you so, so much,” he can feel the vibrations of her voice as she speaks. “Being a cop and a parent is going to be scary, and even I can’t come up with a binder to fix that. Or even to figure out all the ways it can be scary,” she chuckles half-heartedly. “I don’t know the answers to getting through this. Maybe taking a break from field work for a little while? Maybe going back to see that counselor, but together this time? We don’t have to figure it out now.”

Jake takes on more deep breath, untangles their hands, and wipes his nose on his sleeve, “Ames, you’re the best.” He leans over and kisses her softly, marveling at how her lips are somehow always both warm and cool at the same time. “I guess we should go find the Captain again, huh? And also maybe try to look more normal because Charles has mentioned the waxing moon’s influence on fertility three times already this week.”

Amy laughs her high, clear laugh, and places her cool hands on his cheeks as she kisses him again, “Ice hands to make your face look less splotchy.”

He smiles into her kiss, the debris of his swirling anxieties receding into the corners of his mind. He knows the worries will come back, but he also knows with more certainty than he’s known almost anything before that between him, and Amy, and the squad, and their families, that they’ll get through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm working on endings. Also contemplating adding more chapters (one-shots) to this story. Lemme know if that would be of interest!


	4. Snip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jake and Amy’s kid has untameable hair, but they’re both too soft to want to cut it.

They should have known this would happen. They’ve all seen the pictures of Jake’s hair in his high school days. And even now, with a much shorter cut, it takes several serums to keep to a reasonable volume in the midst of Brooklyn summer humidity. (The hair solutions were, in fact, the only grooming products besides after shave that Jake owned before he moved into Amy’s apartment. He was delighted to find out that dry elbows were a fixable condition when he began to regularly borrow her moisturizer. She was less than delighted at his very liberal application of what turns out was _face_ moisturizer, so after an informative trip to Duane Reade he made a bathroom organizational chart with all the different types of lotions and conditioners and body washes that he and Amy each used and she almost proposed right then and there, but settled on some intense making out instead). And Amy’s hair wasn’t ever exactly ever easy to tame either. She just had applied that signature Santiago stubbornness to it for so long that it generally complied with her daily routine of low buns and tight ponytails.  

So when their firstborn literally emerged from the womb with a mop of curls, it was unsurprising.

“Well, the wife wasn’t cheating on you,” Roger had said when he first saw baby Rachel in the nursery, nestled amongst the other nearly bald newborns who were lined up for hearing testing. Jake had wanted to die inside at that comment, and was very thankful Amy was down the hall in her room, immersed in a conversation with the lactation consultant.  

“She has her mother’s eyes and your smile, Jacob,” Kevin had observed when he and Captain Holt came to visit. “Indeed,” the Captain intoned, “The infant also shares a hair style with you, Detective Peralta. She is a charming baby.”

Both Amy and Jake grinned from ear-to-ear at this assessment, but Jake could feel Amy practically vibrating with barely-contained glee. And as soon as the elevator doors shut behind the Captain and Kevin, she squealed so sharply that her nurse came running into the room at full speed.

Now, as Rachel approaches two years old, those same beautiful curls have become an unruly mop that spills down her shoulders and reaches nearly to her bottom. Admittedly, it’s not very far between her shoulders and her bottom, as Jake knows too well from a couple of serious diaper incidents between six and twelve months. Most days he or Amy have managed to get her hair braided or pulled back without too much fuss. On days after nightmares, it’s extra easy because Amy can braid while Rachel is still asleep wrapped around Jake’s arm. But Rae has been putting up a fight more and more often lately, and Amy’s pregnant belly is starting to get large enough to interfere with her full toddler-wrangling capability. On the third day in a row when Amy is almost late to work because of a hair-related meltdown (“No touch! Dada do it!” Rachel wails as soon as Amy produces a hair elastic, before equally vehemently protesting Jake’s attempts to get a brush near her head), she and Jake realize the time has come. Rachel needs a haircut.

Even Camila Santiago, who has chastised all of her other children for cutting their babies’ hair too soon, started dropping hints that Rachel’s hair was out of control almost six months ago. Karen Peralta had never seen anything unruly that she didn’t love, so perhaps her cooing over the increasing density and volume of hair should have in and of itself been a sign. But there had always been a reason not to: the braids were cute, she enjoys washing her hair and might not take a bath otherwise, the curls are cute. Maybe most of the reasons have been how cute Rae is, and how chicken both of her tough cop parents are to let anyone with scissors, including themselves, anywhere near her perfect head. But with the terrible twos in full force and the impending arrival of another exhausting bundle of joy, Jake and Amy realize it is time to suck it up and cut their daughter’s hair before a chewing gum or lice crisis forces their hand.

So the Sunday after Rachel goes to daycare with her hair completely undone, the three Santiago-Peraltas make it all the way to the entrance of the KidCutz Salon before Rachel realizes that this is not their usual trip to the coffee shop. She lets go of both Jake and Amy’s hands and sits down smack-dab in the middle of the doorway, face twisted into a dramatic pout.

“No!” she shouts. “I don’t like it here!” And then bursts into loud, ear-rending sobs.

While he knows the general toddler tantrum protocol (it’s laminated on the first pages of child rearing binder #7: behavioral issues and their management) involves letting the toddler tire herself out and not negatively reinforcing the behavior with attention, Jake realizes this particular location is not a great one for his daughter to be sprawled out bawling on the floor. He shares a knowing look with Amy, then scoops Rachel into his arms and plants loud raspberries on her belly. The formerly screaming toddler is reduced to a fit of giggles within seconds. He continues to carry her as they troop, defeated next door to the coffee shop and order their usual two coffees, one scone, one donut, and one slice of lemon cake a mere five minutes later than usual.

“What are we going to do, Ames?” Jake asks after wet-wiping Rachel’s hands so she can eat her breakfast treat without the fine motor burden of utensil use.

Amy sighs and takes a sip of her coffee. Since being back down to one coffee per day for the pregnancy she has taken to dramatically savoring every drop. Jake makes fun of her for it but not-so-secretly thinks it’s the most adorable thing on the planet.

“I don’t know! There’s no binder page for this. And I re-checked all the baby books last night when I woke up to pee for the third time. They all talk about showing her an example of a haircut and then pacifying her with snacks during. That’s not going to do us much good if she won’t even walk in the door! And I don’t have time to schedule a haircut before daycare tomorrow.”

“I could always use a hair cut,” Jake replies, patting the top of his hair to assess its current height.

“But they’ll use clippers at the barber shop. It’s not really the same?”

“It’s worth a try,” Jake responds.

“Alright,” Amy groans. “Let’s go to the barber shop. At least you look cute with short hair.”

“You know I do, babe!” Jake smiles and begins to sweep the mess of crumbs Rachel has made off of the table.

“But I’m not going anywhere until I finish this coffee. I get one morning a week to sit and actually enjoy the modicum of caffeine that I’m allowed. So I am going to soak it all in. And you are going to sit here and watch.”

“Damn, that’s my wife!” Jake grins goofily. Amy rolls her eyes at his enthusiasm for her bossy streak, but smiles at him as she runs her fingers through Rachel’s curls.

They settle back into their conversation about the latest drama at One Police Plaza, and as Amy savors the last few sips of her coffee her phone rings. She looks at the caller ID, then at Jake, and he knows immediately that it’s the precinct. She sighs and answers the phone. Jake can’t quite tell who is on the other line, but Amy’s brow has crinkled and she’s nodding vigorously as she listens. He knows before she hangs up that she is needed at the precinct.

“I have to go in,” she says as she puts her phone down. “I guess you can head over to the barber shop? Hopefully this will wrap up quickly and I can meet you there before they finish Rachel’s hair, maybe.” She’s not quite frowning but it’s still obvious, to Jake at least, that she’s disappointed in this change of plans.

“We’re closer to the precinct than my barber! Why don’t Rachel and I come in with you? It’s been a while since we’ve gotten to show her off in person. And she’ll be closely supervised, contained to the breakroom corner farthest from the coffee pot, and not in sight of any perps. Then you don’t have to risk missing her first haircut. She’ll want mommy hugs after, too,” Jake smiles.

Amy contemplates quietly for a minute before agreeing. Rachel gets strapped into the stroller with only mild crying and flailing of limbs, and falls asleep one block into their walk. Jake rocks the stroller back and forth as they take the elevator up to the third floor bullpen, humming “Baby Beluga” under his breath as Amy texts one of the weekend patrol supervisors. The elevator bell dings, and Amy plants a quick kiss on Rachel’s head before the doors open and she strides into the bullpen, ready to tackle the developing bail processing crisis in an efficient manner.

Jake follows with the stroller, slowly ambling across to the breakroom. He doesn’t know most of the weekend crew very well, but smiles and nods pleasantly at some of the younger detectives and beat cops, melting inside as their eyes light up when Rachel (who has a sixth sense for attention that seems to have peacefully jolted her from her nap) waves enthusiastically at all of them.

He picks Rae up out of her stroller and place her on his lap as he scrolls through emails on his phone. She’s still young enough to be occasionally enchanted by just the screen, though she has started to request some of her favorite TV (and book) characters by name. Mere minutes later Amy materializes in the break room and lowers herself into one of the less-rickety chairs across from Jake.

“I need your help. This whole thing is backed up because one of the filing cabinets is broken! I have strict file folder size rules for a reason! The night crew can get so sloppy,” she fumes. “And if we had just transitioned to a cloud based document manager as I suggested this wouldn’t be a problem, but our freaking computer security protocols are apparently insufficient,” she throws her hands in the air in exasperation.

“Deep breath, babe,” Jake replies.

Amy’s look shoots daggers at him. She does not like being thought of as irrational whilst pregnant.

“I didn’t come here for your opinion; I came because I need Gina to come in and open the backup cabinet. She’s the only one with the key.” She pauses, and her face softens. “And you know I hate to ask for favors, but wrangling Gina is not really what I wanted to do with my day off. And if she comes in this will go so fast! And we can,” she stops talking and makes a chopping scissor gesture at her own hair while Rachel is distractedly staring at Jake’s phone.

“Cool cool cool easy breezy. I’ll just call her.”

“Good luck with that,” Amy scoffs. “I did at least start with the obvious. She didn’t pick up.”

Jake dials anyway, smiling at Amy as he bounces Rachel on his knee, hoping she doesn’t start crying now that she’s deprived of what is her favorite toy, loved all the more for the scarcity with which she’s allowed to use it.

Jake’s sly smile widens when Gina picks up on the last ring. Amy can overhear Gina’s standard greeting of “what’s up girrrl” from a few feet away. She wants to roll her eyes since Gina was clearly screening her calls, but instead reaches out to ruffle Rachel’s hair. Three minutes worth of cajoling and an agreement to give Iggy a police escort to her dance recital later (Amy tries to cut off the negotiations at this point, but Jake smiles knowingly at her, and she decides to trust that this will all work out) Gina agrees to bring in the key.

Gina’s jaw drops as soon as she enters the break room.

“What have you done to this poor angel?” Gina admonishes Amy, while gesturing at Rachel’s hair, which has somehow become knotted in two different places since they entered the precinct.

Amy rolls her eyes, and Jake covers Rachel’s ears.

“I know, I know,” Amy sighs. “That’s why we’re trying to get out of here. She needs it cut before daycare on Monday, but our first attempt didn’t go so well.”

Gina begins to dig around her purse, “Well isn’t this just your lucky day,” she says, suddenly brandishing a pair of scissors and a spray bottle.  

“Gina, I don’t know if this is a good idea,” Jake begins to explain. “We tried the kid salon already and it didn’t go well.”

“How dare you lump me in with those charlatans? Just trust me, your child will look human again in mere minutes. I’ve been cutting Iggy’s hair for years.”

Jake and Amy exchange nervous looks, then nod at each other in resignation. Gina is a force of nature with very nice hair, and also the idea of going to yet another place today with a screaming toddler in tow seems overwhelming.

Gina begins to spray Rachel’s hair as soon as she sees the nod, making Jake yelp as he’s hit with a stray spritz of water. Rachel begins to giggle, and somehow the scissors are clacking and a small pile of hair is on the floor before Amy has a chance to ask Gina to pause and reconsider. Rachel is enchanted as Gina flits around, and within minutes her curls are arranged in a neat halo that frames her chubby baby face.  

“Wow, Gina, thank you,” Amy gushes, realizing she hasn’t seen both of Rae’s eyes at the same time in the past several days.

“Never doubt me, Sarge,” Gina quips and winks. “And Jacob, I know you are going to try to wiggle out of sirens and lights for the recital. That will not be happening. Linetti out.” She spins dramatically on her heel and prances towards the exit.

Amy waddles towards the break room door as fast as she can, trying not to yell too unprofessionally, “Gina, the key! That’s why we called in the first place!”  

Fortunately, the elevator is taking its sweet time as usual, so Gina hasn’t been able to escape yet.

“Oh right,” she reaches into her bag. “Heads up!” and she launches the key into the air with an overhand toss. The elevator bell dings at the same time and she strides into it dramatically. “You can keep that copy,” she says, and the door closes.

By some miracle the keys land right in Amy’s outstretched hands, and she hands them directly to the files chief for the weekend. He unlocks the cabinet, and Amy looks over to the breakroom to see Jake already has Rachel in the stroller again and ready to go. She can’t contain the smile that spreads over her face every time she sees her husband and daughter together. Jake smiles back, and his eyes crinkle in that way that makes her want to wrap him up in her arms. For now, she’ll settle for giving his hand a quick squeeze in the elevator, heart full, ready to snuggle their daughter on the couch and FaceTime the grandparents to show off her new hairdo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who might possibly be still wanting to read my other fic in progress I promise it will happen eventually! Thanks so much for any and all who have enjoyed this.


End file.
